The Musings Of An Opinionated Sod [Help Me Grow!]

Her seventeenth.

Or, in cat years, her 84th.

And while she’s definitely showing her age in her speed, she still has her Singaporean street cat, street smarts.

Not just in terms of being a cranky, demanding, wonderful asshole. But also knowing how to get us to do whatever she wants and requires. From coming downstairs to help her get under the covers of our bed … to feeding her the Friskies she has adored all her life to not being pissed at her she still darts out the front door when she wants the sense of freedom. [Though that’s also because she only has the energy to then sit under our car rather than run away]

I love this cat.

I love her moods, her quirks, her ways.

I love that she has lived literally all around the World – in 7 countries to be exact – so now takes everything in her stride … to the point she’s not bothered – or tempted – by all the birds that fly around our house in the trees or even the bird that lives in our house. Even when Sky is out of her cage and dive-bombing her in her bed.

I know 17 is a ripe old age for a cat, but frankly, that’s something I try not to think about.

The reality is she has given us a lot more than we’ve given her [and we’ve given her a fuck-ton] so I don’t want to think that one day that may stop.

Though the reality is even when she’s gone, she’ll still be with us.

In our hearts. In our memories and in how she has shaped, influenced and brain-washed our behaviour.

Which would be the thing she would be happiest about the most.

But – thankfully – we’re not there yet. In fact, the vet thought she was waaaaaaaay younger than she actually is, such is the quality of her general health … so we will celebrate her Royal Highness Catness’ special, special day with Friskies and hugs … even though we accept we will only get the hugs because of the Friskies.